When God Closes a Door
by Katjandante
Summary: Detective DiNozzo's willingness to help NCIS on a case costs him dearly, but he finds, to his surprise, that there is a light he never expected within the darkness. Gibbs/Tony Father/Son, dark theme.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Yes, it's yet another 'How Tony Met Gibbs' story, started long before 'Baltimore' aired, so no spoilers. It's a bit of a different take, rather dark and not so pleasant, focussing not so much on the case, as on a specific moment within, the case being secondary (or tertiary) and not of much importance. It's the first time I post a multi-chapter story, so I hope I can figure it out properly! It's done, I'm just doing a final re-reading and nit-picking.

**AN2:** A HUGE thank-you to my beta for looking this over, despite having so very little time. Any mistakes are mine, because every time I re-read, I can't leave it alone.

**Warning:** This story contains material that is adult in nature, at times graphic, and not for everyone. It deals with the aftermath of rape, and whilst it does not depict the event itself, it does contain a detailed description of a main character going through a rape exam. I've tried to stay as true as possible to reality, but I have taken some liberties; this is fiction, after all ;) It also has some heavy-duty swearwords. If this isn't your thing, do not read.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, I can only dream.

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

Forensic Specialist Abby Sciuto lifted her head again, sensing rather than hearing the stifled whimper as Baltimore Homicide Detective Anthony DiNozzo shifted yet again on the comfortable sofa upon which he'd seated himself.

Worry peaked in Abby's eyes as she watched him surreptitiously. Just the fact that the undeniably handsome and freakishly observant young man hadn't yet noticed her eyes upon him told her something was wrong.

She hadn't known him long; only a few days since she had been ordered down here on the case, a joint effort between Baltimore PD and led by NCIS, but she already knew this wasn't right. Although younger and not so experienced, certainly not in the same areas, it hadn't taken her much time to realise that he was as observant and reflexive as Special Agent Gibbs, whom she'd come to help.

_Gibbs._

Maybe the other man would know what was wrong, even though suspicions were poking uncomfortably at the back of her mind. She didn't like the conclusions she was drawing. But then again, hindsight was 20/20, and if she (and he) were lucky, she'd be wrong.

The young man shifted again, obviously trying to keep it quiet and unnoticed, his attention completely focussed on the task at hand.

Abby bounced to her feet, noting with some concern how the sudden movement made him jump. She'd noticed that he was uncomfortable with physical contact when they'd met, but she wasn't even near him at the moment. "I need a Caff-Pow!" she announced. Ducky and Gibbs were together right now, going over the autopsy report of the latest victim. Tony, apparently, had already been through it and understood the medicalese that could stymie Abby at times without Ducky's succinct, if colourful, explanations.

"There's no Caff-Pow! machine here" Tony said, whilst Abby told herself that she was just reading the pain into his voice. The bruise around his right eye was swelling faster than she would have guessed, and was now a shockingly dark red, purplish colour. She wondered if he'd really told the truth about getting checked out, or if he'd just lied to get Gibbs off his back. Then she wondered if _anyone_ could actually lie to Gibbs and get away with it.

"I'll figure something out" Abby chirped before scarpering. Any highly caffeinated beverage would do.

Gibbs and Ducky were right where she'd expected to find them; hunched over the oval sofa table in Ducky's room, case file open, and more than a few grisly photographs spread across the table. She imagined the room had never seen such horrors. Then again, it was a hotel room, and hotels held more than their fair share of secrets.

"Got something, Abs?" Jethro asked immediately. He'd requested that everyone have keys to everyone else's room, to facilitate easy communication throughout the case.

"Hello to you too, Gibbs, Ducky." Abby nodded at them.

"Abigail" Ducky greeted her with a smile.

"Abby" the lead agent growled.

"Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today. Or, yesterday, actually, since you haven't been to bed since the day before yesterday, which means you couldn't have gotten up-"

"Abs" he warned, his patience worn thin from lack of sleep, and an annoying homicide Detective who couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Right. Got something, yes. Case-related, no. Or, maybe, actually. I'm not sure."

"Spit it out" Jethro advised, not having the patience for her ramblings.

"Ladies don't spit" Abby promptly announced.

"Since when has that stopped you?" Jethro wanted to know, well aware of Abby's less-than-ladylike tendencies.

Abby glared. The former Marine returned the look until finally growing impatient. "You said you have something?" he reminded her.

She nodded, suddenly looking unsure. "Did . . . did something happen to Tony that you didn't tell me about?" she asked, her voice suddenly small. The two of them hadn't exactly hit it off; his big mouth, too-good looks and leering eyes quickly ensured that she pegged him as nothing more than a rich play-boy with brains that resided in his pants. But it hadn't taken long for her to see through the mask, past the shiny shields, and she was now his biggest fan.

"Detective DiNozzo?" Ducky asked, his brow furrowing. "Is the young lad all right?" Despite the rocky start with both Gibbs and Abby, Ducky had taken immediately to the cocky, smart-mouthed young detective, realising all too quickly that the rich-kid, frat-boy mask hid a perceptive, intelligent mind and a very big and sensitive heart.

"He's putting on a good show" Abby said. She dragged her black leather platform boot along the yellow line in the patterned carpet. "Did we really get there in time?" she asked quietly.

Jethro's head shot up, and she took an involuntary step back at the sudden fire in his eyes. "What do you mean?" he growled. The detective had heartily assured everyone that nothing had happened during that fifteen minute lapse between his entering the office in the warehouse and the rest of the team following suit. Jethro had already torn him a new one for not waiting for back-up, though he'd had little choice in the matter.

"He can't sit still. He keeps shifting so he's more on the side of his butt and stifling these whimpers and groans, and he flinches when something moves or someone comes near him" Abby said. "And he didn't even notice me staring at him."

To the average person, it might not sound like much, but to a highly trained investigator as Leroy Jethro Gibbs, despite the fact that he had known Detective DiNozzo a mere eight days, and it felt like they'd known each other nearly a lifetime, he knew there was something wrong. It had taken all of ten minutes to realise that the man was deceptively brilliant, and not much longer for him to see through the bullshit, to the real person hiding behind the admittedly excellent façade.

He remembered now, the wild look in those normally well-shuttered emerald eyes, the almost panicked way DiNozzo had wrenched his arm from Jethro's grasp, the flash of something he now recognised as fear when his colleagues had clustered round him.

Dammit.

He let his fist fall on the thick wooden table, making Ducky jump as photographs and loose pages fluttered about.

"He said he was fine!" Jethro shouted, leaping to his feet.

"Jethro!"

Ducky's sharp voice stopped him, and, halfway to the door, he turned to face his old friend.

"What?" Anger radiated from him, but Ducky didn't seem to notice or care. There were few people in this world who could talk Jethro down from one of his rages, and Ducky still wasn't sure if he was one of them or not. Perhaps on a good day.

"A few things" Ducky said calmly, also rising. "Are you certain, Abigail?"

"As sure as I can be without asking" she replied.

"Then, Jethro, you need to calm down" Ducky lectured firmly. "If you go in there with all guns blazing, that boy is going to close right up and flee, and he will never trust you. There is a reason he lied when you asked, and it would do you well to keep that in mind. And lastly, if Abigail is right, rape is an incredibly traumatic event, and no matter how well he hides it, he is not okay and he is not functioning on all cylinders. You need to be prepared for any one of numerous outcomes when you confront him with this, and you need to remember that he is both a victim and a cop, and will react as such."

"He lied to me, Duck." Jethro's worry typically expressed itself as fury, and he was trying not to wonder right now just why he was so damn furious.

"Yes, he did. Have you not wondered why?" Ducky asked. "He will surely have a good reason; at least, one that he believes is good."

What Jethro believed to be good could differ greatly from what Tony believed to be good, and they had both quickly learnt that the young man was not above sacrificing himself for someone or something else.

"I'm going to kill him" Jethro growled, but the other two could both see the fire was gone from his eyes, the fury now directed at the perpetrators and not the detective. The young man had somehow wormed his way into Jethro's heart without even trying, arousing some powerful protective instincts.

"That's better" Ducky nodded. "Gentle, Jethro!" he called after the agent's retreating back, before he and Abby hastened to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **First off, a HUGE thank you to all of you who reviewed, and left such encouraging comments. Thank you so much! You have all encouraged me so much. Second, this is the first time I post a multi-chapter story, so I hope I manage it correctly. Please let me know if it doesn't work :S

**AN2:** Things get pretty heated this chapter. Warning for swearing, including the f-bomb. I considered long and hard, whether to include the harsher language, and ultimately decided it fit with the dark content of the story, and what the character was going through.

**Disclaimer:** I wouldn't need to study so darn hard if I owned them . . .

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

Tony leapt a foot off the sofa when Special Agent Gibbs barged into the room, and a flash of pain was quickly hidden as he yanked his index finger from the trigger of the weapon now drawn and pointed directly at the other man's head.

"Dammit, Gibbs, you _trying_ to get me to shoot you?" he swore, re-holstering the weapon, taking a deep breath as he felt the adrenaline wearing off, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jethro silently berated himself for not listening to Ducky. "You shouldn't be armed in here" he snapped angrily, not yet having managed to button down on those roiling emotions.

"Your safe place. Not mine" Tony shot back, some colour slowly returning to his ashen cheeks. He wondered what had happened to make the former Marine so angry.

Jethro ignored the barb, and moved so he was close to the homicide detective, noting again that flash of uncertainty before it was expertly hidden behind a mask that had been years in the making.

"What?" Tony asked. "I don't have anything definitive yet. I told you I'd call if I did. I don't have spinach in my teeth, do I?" he quipped, uncomfortable with the intense gaze.

"Something you want to tell me, DiNozzo?" Gibbs growled, ignoring the weak attempt at levity.

Tony took a wary step back, unaware of the retreat. "Something you're looking for?" he returned.

Jethro glared at him a long moment, impressed despite himself at the way the young detective stood up to something that normally had far more powerful and important men cowing under its ire.

"You want to try that again?" His voice grew lower, and he took another step forwards even as Tony retreated again, unconsciously reacting to a perceived threat. The young man trusted the former Marine, as much as he trusted anybody, which wasn't much, but he was working on instincts now, and they were screaming at him to protect himself. A brief flash of panic was visible as the younger man's legs hit the edge of the sofa and he was suddenly trapped, with no escape.

"No, I'm good." Tony's voice was still bright, his face neutral, revealing nothing. But Jethro could see the fear hidden deep in those emerald eyes. "Unless you want a retake?" The smile was quick and too harsh.

"Bullshit" Jethro snapped, and behind him Abby let out a giggle, despite the gravity of the situation.

"I haven't held back once about the case" Tony said, getting angry at the presumptions of this bastard of an NCIS agent. "I've told you everything I know and then some. And right now, I don't have anything else!" He'd disobeyed a direct order in order to help NCIS because he was convinced his department was not clean, and his butt was on the line, his _career_ was on the line for it. His voice was growing tense despite the forced cheer.

"I'm talking something a little more personal" Jethro replied.

"Well, no guarantees then" Tony said easily, the mask back in place, his voice once again friendly. "You have _questionable_ rights to everything case-related, more thanks to me. The rest is off-limits. Besides, it's not like you're a very sharing, open kind of guy" he pointed out.

"He has guts, I will say that for him" Ducky murmured admiringly to Abby.

"Oh, this is case-related." The growl was returning.

"I've told you everything, unless your hearing is going with your eyes?" Tony suggested quirking an eyebrow. When in doubt, go on the offence. That approach had always served him well in his varsity basketball career.

Jethro swallowed the anger, knowing it would do no good. "Did we get there in time?" he asked, his voice low. He knew instantly by the spark of panic, that Abby had hit the nail on the head, and he swore lustily to himself.

"I already told you what happened" Tony said evenly, his voice loud and firm, his eyes suddenly hard and completely devoid of their normal, mischievous sparkle. How could the man know? _How could he know?_

Jethro stepped right up into the detective's personal space so their noses were only centimetres apart, and his icy blue eyes glared daggers into the emerald ones opposite. His voice changed when he spoke next. "Were. We. In. Time?"

The voice was that which he used on children who were victims; that soft, bone-deep compassion and undisguised empathy, with the steel behind, the security, and it made Tony shudder. His eyes drifted, and he knew instantly that he'd given himself away.

Jethro closed his eyes briefly as DiNozzo's expression changed, and his body language softened, telling the two onlookers everything they needed to know. The father in him ached for the victim hidden so well within the detective. He was about to raise his hand to cup the back of the head that he'd already slapped numerous times, when the younger man's head snapped up, his eyes shuttered and hard.

"It doesn't matter. I'm fine, it's nothing. Now, we've got a bad guy to catch." His voice was flat, emotionless, and he was proud of the strength of his convictions.

"It's not nothing!" Jethro growled, hackles rising again, and Ducky sensed this was the time to move in.

"Yeah, it is. Report's already in, and I'm fine" Tony repeated, annoyed. "Now drop it." Steel this time, and Jethro felt a burst of pride that he didn't understand, despite the annoyance and fury.

"C'mon, we're going to the hospital." Jethro reached out for the younger man.

Now this reaction he hadn't expected. Tony flinched as if stung and, lightning fast, managed to get out of the corner into which Gibbs had backed him, nearly taking down the other man in the process. "No! Absolutely not. It's over and done with. Now drop it!"

He could feel his heart rate climbing, the anxiety rising. The situation was fast spiralling out of control. He was _not_ going to any damn hospital!

"At least let Ducky take a look at you" Jethro suggested, softening his tone again, bewildered at the reaction that seemed rather extreme. It was the mention of a hospital, not the invasion of his privacy, that had provoked that reaction, and the silver-haired man felt a tightening in his gut, as he recalled the background check he'd done on the Baltimore detective.

"No!" Tony shouted, a rare display of his temper which, when unleashed, was every bit as scary as that of a grumpy, silver-haired NCIS agent. "Dammit, leave me alone, Gibbs! I'm trying to catch a killer here!"

"DiNozzo!" Jethro growled warningly, fast losing patience with the obstinate young man. He didn't understand how _anyone_ could be so damn mule-headed!

"Anthony." Ducky was suddenly there beside Gibbs, sensing things were about to blow up in spectacular fashion.

Tony's eyes slid briefly sideways to the Medical Examiner before returning to Gibbs. Never take your eyes off the threat.

"Anthony, would you let me examine you instead?" Ducky asked, sensing he had to tread carefully here. In addition to the trauma of such an attack, and the naturally reserved, stoic nature of the detective, his friend had gone and gotten the younger man good and riled.

Tony shook his head quickly. "No, thank you, Ducky" he said, the good manners long-ingrained automatically triggered by the gentlemanly ways of the Scotsman. "No offence, but I'd rather not be examined by someone who spends his days on dead bodies."

"He checks out NCIS personnel all the time" Jethro snapped, annoyed at the dig at his friend. "Now quit playing around and let him at it!" He knew, even as the words left his mouth, that he'd screwed up, big time, but he was too stubborn to take it back.

Tony bristled, his heart pounding in his chest, a myriad of emotions swirling in his body. "Playing around?" he growled dangerously. "You call what I'm doing playing around?" He saw the flicker in the agent's eyes, and continued. "This is none of your damn business, Gibbs!" he said hotly, his temper rising with his fear. "It's over and done with. What's your big concern anyway? It's not like you're someone who actually _cares_ about the well-being of your people. So long as they're doing their job, the rest doesn't matter. At least not to you." Tony knew that dig would cut far deeper than his anger tempered with a heavy dose of fear.

He was right. "If you think for just one second that I don't-" Jethro began in an icy, low, dangerous voice that was bravely cut off by Ducky, who sensed a fight of epic proportions in the making.

"Jethro." The elderly man said nothing more. The young detective was using his natural skill as an investigator and interrogator to anger the NCIS agent enough to make him forget about the issue at hand, and Jethro should know better than to fall for it.

He did. Jethro stopped. "Get Ducky to check you out" he said, his voice tense with the effort of controlling himself. He had to remind himself that the victim within the Detective was lashing out, using all the skill of its host.

"No! I've told you already. It's nothing. I'm fine!" Tony protested, surprised by the lack of repercussion for his comments. He was also fuming at the arrogance of the NCIS agent, thinking he could order Tony around like that, and the natural rebel in him was quickly aroused.

"DiNozzo" Jethro growled dangerously.

Ducky decided this was his cue and stepped in, pushing Gibbs out of the way as he moved closer. "Whatever may or may not be wrong with you" he said, his voice unusually intense, "it is most certainly _not_ nothing."

Tony swallowed hard at this. "Ducky, really, it's fine."

"Is that right, Dr. DiNozzo?" Jethro barked.

"I played two varsity sports in college!" Tony snapped. "Believe me when I say, I know my own body." As an athlete, you had to. Pushing was good, it was important, because there was no improvement without it, but push too far, and you ended up being sidelined for months with an injury.

"It's either Ducky or we go straight to the ER" Jethro threatened. "Your choice."

"Right. My choice. So whether or not I allow this at all is up to me. And I'm telling you no. You having trouble understanding that? Maybe we should try another language. How about _non_. Or _nein_. _No_" he continued, enunciating it in Italian. "_Ne, na, nit, nyet._ Aha" he crowed, seeing the quick flash in those icy blue eyes, as they recognised the Russian. His voice grew, so he was like an orator on stage, announcing to the audience, large and dramatic, and unfortunately, heading for a meltdown. "He speaks Russian. Maybe I should try it in Russian. Unfortunately, my experience was with the Italian mob, not the Russian, so I'll need a translator. One other than you, see, Agent Gibbs, because for all that you _speak_ the language, you don't seem to actually _understand_ the words you're saying."

"Cut the crap" Jethro growled, knowing he had to end this soon. The detective was just too damn good at riling him up, and pressing his buttons, and something they were both going to regret was going to happen very soon.

"Good idea" Tony agreed, his voice far from amicable. "So, drop it, and let's focus on something that really matters." Voices and tempers were fast rising, and Abby was inching slowly towards the door, wanting a very fast getaway for when it blew. "Who died and made you King anyhow?"

Jethro's response to the other man's careless reference to his lack of importance, as well as the snarky comment about his own attitude, was immediate and instinctive, and he knew instantly that it had been a mistake even as he raised his hand and slapped the back of Tony's head.

Tony really did flinch this time, twisting violently away despite himself. "Shit!" he yelled, pulling himself back together and trying to calm his racing heart and tone down the adrenaline rush that accompanied the reaction. "The hell, Gibbs?"

"Don't be an idiot" was Jethro's reply, and he hated how DiNozzo's face fell. "Now, Ducky or the ER?"

"You're a damn stubborn son-of-a-bitch!" Tony snarled, and Ducky knew it was time for Jethro and Abby to leave. They didn't need an audience for what he was sure would be a crumpling of at least some of the young detective's staunch defences.

"Out!" Ducky snapped, jabbing a sharp finger at the door. "This is not the time, Jethro. Give us some privacy here. Abigail, please" he added, his voice softening.

Abby got it instantly, even as Ducky watched his old friend gritting his jaw, preparing to fight. The young man had touched some deep protective streak in Jethro that normally, only Abby evoked, and Ducky was once again reminded that Jethro would have made a wonderful father.

"C'mon, Bossman" Abby said, appearing at his side and latching onto his arm. "I can show you how to-"

"Duck?" Jethro asked, noticing the deer-in-the-headlights expression now gracing the detective's eyes.

Abby fell silent.

"It'll be fine, Jethro. Now give the poor boy some breathing room." Ducky shooed them from the hotel room before turning back to his charge.

"Thanks for the rescue, Ducky" Tony said, obviously relieved they were gone. His voice was tight, his body fraught with tension, and the physician suspected the young Italian's hands were trembling. Tony made to reach for the case files that had slipped to the floor, clearly intending to get right back to work. Probably right after fleeing.

"My dear boy, that was no rescue. That was me getting them out of the room so I could do a proper exam." He hoped Jethro was standing guard at the door, because Ducky knew he would have no chance of restraining the former elite college athlete if he decided to flee.

Tony's eyes widened in fear, and he rapidly shook his head, inwardly cursing himself for getting himself into this position, for losing control. He should have grabbed his files and bailed before it ever got to this, let the damn Feds on their own instead of risking his career to help them. "No way, Ducky! I told you, I'm fine. No damage. It's all good." It really was, if only they'd let him alone.

"I'm afraid I have to stick with Jethro on this one" Ducky said quietly.

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but the elderly man quickly cut him off.

"No, Anthony. Rape is, by its very nature, an act of violence, not sex. We both know that. And I would be remiss in my duties both as a sworn doctor and a friend if I did not insist that you get checked out. It does not matter by whom, so long as they are a qualified doctor."

"Please, Ducky." The gentle plea escaped Tony's mouth before he could stop it, the first crack in the façade he'd built in longer than he could remember, and he was instantly ashamed of it. The wise, shrewd doctor referring to him as a friend had gotten through more defences than Gibbs' temper tantrum ever would. He was far too used to violence and anger, and had long ago learnt to defend against it. Kindness, however, was and had always been, his undoing.

Ducky gently laid a hand on the man opposite him, fingers closing gently around hard biceps that twitched beneath his hand. "I will not pretend to understand what it is you are going through at this moment" he said softly, "but there is no need for that mask, anymore. You are not alone, Anthony."

"Yes, I am" Tony replied softly. He had been for as long as he could remember.

"Let me help." This time Ducky's tone brooked no argument, and Tony let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a weary hand across tired, red-rimmed eyes.

"I hate the kind of 'choices' doctors give" he said, an edge of bitterness to his voice that he didn't even try to conceal.

"Let's do this in the bathroom, my boy" Ducky suggested, ignoring that last statement, really quite pleased he'd been able to get through to the boy. As reluctant as the Italian might be, it really was important that he get checked out, just to be sure. "You go in there and remove your clothing, and I shall be there in just a moment."

Tony was unceremoniously ushered into the large bathroom, whereupon Ducky pulled the door closed behind him, assuring him that he would knock before re-entering. Suddenly, alone for the first time since it had happened, Tony allowed his shoulders to slump.

"Oh, God" he whispered, lowering himself to the edge of the bathtub, perching on his thighs and burying his head in his hands, off his game enough to not even consider that the wily M.E. might just be listening outside the door as opposed to having a few words with Abby and Gibbs, as he'd assumed.

He had pulled himself together so quickly after the attack, he hadn't even had time to process it. Moving on autopilot, his training and long years of hiding kicking in despite the pain and emotional shock, he had lied through his teeth, unwilling or perhaps unable to admit, and continued on with the job.

They'd found the henchmen, the hired muscle, but had yet to track down their leader, and the job had always come first for Tony, so this had been no different as he'd pushed it away to that place in his head where he banished those things he could not bear to face.

But now, the way Gibbs had looked at him, the understanding in Ducky's voice . . . "Dammit!" Tony swore, lashing out violently with his fist so it collided with a resounding crack on the tiled wall.

"Fuck" he swore a moment later as the pain kicked in, and he hoped he hadn't broken anything this time.

He cradled the appendage as he settled himself back on the bathtub ledge, formulating a way to talk Ducky out of this unnecessary and humiliating exam. He always had been a master of words.

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><p><strong>PS:<strong> Kudos to anyone who recognises the movie from which I stole the title ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**AN1:** Thank you guys SO much for all those reviews, you're all amazing! I wasn't sure how well this story would be received, because of the subject matter, as well as how I chose to address it (and I'm still a wary of this chapter in particular), but the response has been so positive and encouraging. It just warms my heart :)

**AN2:** This chapter deals with the actual rape exam. It's graphic and rather clinical, so if this isn't your thing, you can skip it, or the sections where that's addressed. Let me know, and I can post a summary at the beginning of the next chapter. I've tried to keep it as real as possible, whilst still exercising my artistic license when I felt it further benefited the story.

**Disclaimer:** Come to think of it, maybe it's best they don't belong to me. Poor Tony (although, I've noticed there are an awful lot of us hurt!Tony junkies out there . . .)

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

The soft knock on the bathroom door still managed to startle Tony, and he let out a few choice words under his breath. He'd been fine for the last six hours, and now suddenly he was falling apart.

"Anthony." Ducky slipped inside, and frowned minutely. "You need to remove your clothes. No" he said, holding up his finger and forestalling the argument, accessing the steel within himself, usually hidden beneath the rambling, rather eccentric M.E. "No. Dear boy, I am truly sorry, but you do not have a choice in this. I need to make sure that you are okay. I promise you, the consequences of any untreated lacerations would be far more unpleasant than this exam. Whether it goes any further than this room, is up to you. But for now, if you would kindly remove your clothes. You can put them in here" he said setting down a paper evidence bag.

Tony's eyes widened at the sight. "Ducky, I'm not-" he began, aware of the note of panic in his voice.

"This bag is all that is available" Ducky soothed, his voice calm, the cadence growing more Scottish by the moment. "I do not imagine you will be wanting to wear those clothes again any time in the near or distant future. This way, you can easily dispose of them as you wish. The advantage is that it also does not close any options, should you choose to pursue this."

"I won't" Tony said firmly, calming slightly at the doctor's reasoning. As much as they had ganged up on him, forcing him to submit to being checked out, it didn't appear as though they were going to make him go the official route as well, and report the incident. It made being harangued into the exam easier to take. He'd never had someone in his life who had _only_ his best interests at heart, with no ulterior motive, and angry as he still was at both men, he was beginning to realise that they really did seem to care for him, just for him, and not for any other reason.

"Yes, well, permit me to say, Anthony, the best time to make a decision is _not_ directly following such a trauma. However, I digress. If we could return to the issue at hand, and I could get you to kindly remove your clothing?"

Tony sighed heavily, knowing he was well and truly cornered, but somehow, likely because of his earlier realisation not feeling trapped. There wouldn't be any getting out of this, but at the same time, he didn't feel like he was being manipulated or coerced, and the older doctor's sincere concern for his well-being was what swayed him. He bowed his head as he toed off his once-favourite pair of Italian leather shoes, dumping them and the socks in the bag, before slipping gingerly from his shirt and wrinkling his nose at the sweaty smell of his T-shirt. He hadn't had a chance to shower in two days.

He was feeling distinctly embarrassed, even though Ducky was not watching him, but instead laying out some things on a towel on one of the counters. His black medical bag was sitting open beside him.

Tony unbuckled his belt, thinking it really was a shame he'd worn his favourite belt and shoes on the same day as this had transpired, because he really had no desire to ever even see them again. He wondered if a bonfire would be cathartic enough, as he placed his pants and finally boxers, in the bag.

With that exquisite sense of timing doctors seemed to have, Ducky finished at the exact moment Tony slowly folded the bag shut, wishing very much that he could have something to wrap around himself.

It wasn't that he was a shy or bashful person; he'd been an athlete, with all the doctors and check-ups and group showers and change-rooms and lack of privacy that came with that, not to mention a very healthy and fulfilled libido. But this was different, and exposing himself so soon after he'd been violated was almost more than he could handle.

He shuddered briefly, goose-bumps erupting, and his heartbeat quickened exponentially as his breathing hitched. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep the fear that threatened to overwhelm him at bay.

"Alright, Anthony." Ducky handed the young man a clean towel, which was quickly wrapped around narrow hips. "Why don't you perch on the bathtub again whilst I check your heart and lungs" Ducky suggested, warming his stethoscope in his palm even as he gently pushed the detective back down. He could see the well-disguised fear in those large emerald eyes, and knew he would have to tread carefully here.

Tony still flinched as the M.E. touched him, but sternly told himself to get it together.

"It's okay, my lad" Ducky reassured softly, squeezing the muscled shoulder gently. He listened for nearly half a minute before moving the disk around, asking Tony to breathe deeply. "Heart and lungs are good" he smiled, putting his stethoscope back. "Now, let me check your eyes."

Tony noticed how Ducky ensured one hand was always touching him, so he was never startled by a touch, and he wondered how a man who spent his life working on dead bodies had gotten to be so astute.

He winced as the bright light shone in his eyes. "Headache?" Ducky asked, his fingers moving along Tony's cheekbones, palpating for fractures. Tony winced and let out a soft hiss as Ducky's fingers traversed his impressive and rather painful bruise.

"Yeah" Tony admitted. His head was killing him, and poring over tiny print and bad writing for hours hadn't helped in the slightest.

"Hmm. Well, I cannot feel any facial fractures. Although that is a very impressive bruise." He touched it gently, and then ran his hands through the young man's thick brown hair. "Ho, what have we here?" He pulled away a hand, displaying a smear of blood. "Were you hit on the head, Anthony?"

Tony looked at the red smear in confusion, and lifted his own arm up, making to feel the wound for himself. "I don't know" he said, bewildered, feeling a spike of fear.

"Ah ah, no touching." Ducky gently captured his hand before it reached the laceration. "I shall clean it out after you shower, as I imagine you'll want to wash your hair as well?"

"Yeah" Tony got out thankfully, thinking that just maybe, the fact that the majority of the Scotsman's patients couldn't speak to him, had left him relying doubly on all other clues that most people missed.

"In the meantime, I'll just take a quick look-see." Ducky disinfected his hands as he spoke and pulled on a pair of gloves, before bending over Tony's head and carefully parting his hair as he ferreted out the source of the blood.

For some reason, Tony wasn't frightened by the other man's proximity, by the way his body seemed to hover over his own. Ducky smelt of the hotel's soap with a hint of a fine cologne, a fading scent of antiseptic, and an easy whiff of black tea, and there was something inherently reassuring about his presence, despite the fact that Tony had known him barely a week.

"Nothing too serious, although I believe I shall stitch it up once you've washed up" Ducky said. He carefully went over the rest of Tony's torso as best he could, noting the darkening finger-like bruises around both wrists and upper arms, the deep purple fist-shaped bruises on the slim, muscled torso as well as in the mid-back, making him worry about possible kidney damage, and the newly bruised, ripped knuckles from the fist connecting with the tiled wall. He clucked paternally.

"Now, Anthony. I'd like to examine your groin first."

Tony stiffened, watching warily as Ducky changed for a fresh pair of gloves, and the ominous snapping of latex was all it took to set him off.

"Easy, my boy. Take a deep breath" Ducky soothed, and coached his panicky patient through several minutes' breathing, trying to calm the flighty detective just enough to make sure he wasn't seriously injured.

"Good, now. This will be just like any physical in a doctor's office, and considering both your athletic career and your propensity for injury, I know you are no stranger to this. I do understand, however, that this is a completely different situation. So, I shall seat myself here on the loo, and if you would be so kind as to come stand in front of me" Ducky encouraged, trying to put the young man in the position of power.

Tony gritted his teeth and made himself cover that small distance, knowing that it was better to just get it over with. His crotch was exactly at Ducky's eye-level, which was what he knew the other man wanted, but it didn't help matters much. Taking a deep breath, he removed the towel, draping it over the ledge of the bathtub, and completely exposing himself.

"Just keep breathing, dear boy" Ducky reassured him, placing his hands carefully on the narrow hips before him. "Just before we start" he said, eyeing the area of interest, "tell me. Did they do anything to your groin? A kick, a punch, a grab? Perhaps to hold you still?" he suggested, knowing how the other man must have fought. The bruising was fairly obvious, but more important to determining injury was _how_ it had been inflicted.

Tony's voice was strangled. "They . . . might have . . . squeezed" he admitted, averting his eyes, ashamed. He struggled to control his breathing, to fight down the bubbling sense of panic.

Ducky nodded. "Anything else?" he encouraged, scrutinising Tony's groin. His testes looked a little swollen, his penis bruised, but otherwise nothing too severe, as of yet.

"Maybe . . . a kick?" Tony offered weakly.

Ducky wondered what else he wasn't being told, but knew that now wasn't the time. "Right then. Anthony, I'm going to start by palpating your penis" the physician warned him, hands sliding inwards from their position on his hips which helped both of them minimise the shock of being touched.

Tony tensed when he felt the warm fingers of the M.E. on his manhood, and told himself not to think about how those fingers manipulated and explored dead flesh for a living. He bit his lip as Ducky palpated the two tissue groups comprising the organ, moving his fingers up and down its length before carefully checking the glans for any damage.

"Just a little bruised" he announced, and lifted it. "Would you be so good as to hold this out of my way, dear boy?" he asked.

Tony's right hand trembled as it came down and pressed the organ against the smooth plane of his pubis. The feeling of nausea was rising with the panic, and his body began to tremble finely with the effort of holding himself together.

He winced as Ducky's fingers found and palpated his right testicle, using every ounce of control not to rip himself out of the doctor's grasp.

"Painful when I do this?" Ducky asked, and Tony started to give his head a quick shake before remembering that that was not a smart idea.

"No" he croaked.

"This?"

"Shit!" Tony cried. His free hand fisted, his short nails still managing to dig into his palm. "Yeah."

Ducky nodded, and moved to the other one, repeating the same procedure. "As I said before, just a little bruised" he said reassuringly. "Not that that's much comfort at the moment" he remarked wryly, his hands releasing Tony.

Tony dropped himself and shot backwards, grabbing the towel as he went, struggling to control his breathing before he lost it and started hyperventilating. He was so ashamed. He'd seen rape victims go through an entire rape kit at the hospital with no problems. Why was he falling apart like this?

Ducky had risen and shed his gloves, but he didn't approach the young man. "Do you need a moment, Anthony?" he asked softly, knowing if he handled this wrong, they would never see the talented young detective again. And he deserved so much better than that.

"I'm sorry, Ducky" Tony gasped, his hands low as he covered himself, forcing himself not to cower in the corner.

"You have nothing for which to apologise" Ducky said gently, his heart aching for the detective who was trying so hard to be strong and independent and not fall short of some impossible standard he'd set himself.

"I'm such a coward" Tony got out, his hand aching as he clenched it into a fist. He could hear his father's voice echoing in his head, and struggled to block out the man. This was the last thing he needed.

"No, I promise you, that is not the case" Ducky reassured him. "You are an incredibly brave young man. I cannot imagine what I would do if I were in your situation, and surrounded by strangers to boot."

"Probably wouldn't end up acting like a damn child" Tony scoffed at his behaviour. "Worse. I've seen kids go through this, no problem. And here I am, a grown man." The self-loathing was rife in his voice.

"Children do not have the same comprehension of the act as we do. And they do not hold the same stereotypes that law enforcement do, nor the shame that men do" Ducky said, knowing Tony wasn't ready to hear any of that yet.

Instead, he told a meaningless, silly story of an adventure in Thailand, whilst coaching the young man through another set of breathing exercises, calming him enough for them to attempt to finish the exam. "Sorry, Ducky" Tony murmured, his cheeks flaming red beneath the bruises.

"Not necessary, dear boy" Ducky reassured him for what he felt must be the hundredth time. "Why don't you come over here, lean over the bathtub and you can hold on to the ledge" he suggested, gently guiding the trembling man over. "We'll get this unpleasantness over with, mm?"

There was just something about the Scotsman's way with words, and it was somehow soothing. Tony's breath hitched in his throat again as he bent over the tub, resting his forearms on the ledge and dropping his head momentarily before lifting it again, determined to get through this humiliation with at least a few shreds of his pride intact.

"Good, good, you're doing fine" Ducky encouraged from behind him. "Now, would you widen your stance a little, please?"

Tony's face burnt as he moved his legs wider apart, completely exposing himself. He flinched as he heard Ducky snapping on the gloves.

"Easy, my boy. I'm going to put my hands on your hips now, and move them towards the centre of your buttocks so I can spread your cheeks and get a better look" Ducky told him, his gloves hands landing on Tony's hips.

Tony couldn't help the flinch, but pulled in a deep breath, despite his aching rib and abdominal muscles. Ducky's hands slid to the centre, and pulled his butt cheeks apart.

"Was there just one, or more than one, Anthony?" Ducky asked softly, his eyes taking in the bruised, reddened area. That had to hurt.

"I – I'm not sure" Tony admitted shakily. His memory of the event was blurred and splotchy. His chest heaved, and a half-sob escaped his lips before he clamped them shut.

"Quite all right. I'm just going to take a few swabs here, Anthony, so we can test for infection." Not quite the truth, but not an outright lie either. The first few swabs were along his perianal area and perineum, although Ducky craftily dipped down to the inner thighs, before capping and labelling. The one that dipped inside his hole made him gasp at the pain, more caught by surprise, than actual hurting.

"Did they use a condom?" Ducky wanted to know, his other hand returning.

"Don't – don't think so" Tony choked out, tensing, waiting for what he knew was next.

"And did they ejaculate?" Ducky didn't mince his words, didn't give in to euphemisms or slang words, and it made it easier, somehow.

Tony had to swallow hard at this, and Ducky gave him the time to gather himself. "Yeah." He didn't remember it, but he knew what it felt like and smelt like, and how it dried, itchy on his thighs, how it felt like it was burning into his skin, contaminating him, spoiling him.

Ducky nodded behind Tony. "Right then. Would you bear down for me please, Anthony?" he asked.

Tony closed his eyes, and contracted his muscles, loosening the sphincter muscle.

"Good, and relax."

Tony did so, waiting fearfully for the inevitable, hoping he didn't look as scared as he felt, because it wouldn't do for a DiNozzo to be scared. DiNozzos didn't do fear. "Good. Now, you're going to feel something cool" Ducky said, and Tony twitched as a lubricated finger rested on the opening to his body. Ducky's other hand tightened momentarily, as if trying to reassure him.

"I'm going to ask you to take a deep breath and bear down, then exhale as my finger enters. All right, Anthony?" Ducky's other hand was gently clasping his hip, keeping him anchored. "Anthony?"

"Yeah." His voice was tight and strained, and he was fighting so hard not to lose it.

"Okay. Deep breath in" Ducky directed, "and bear down, good, and let it out."

The air whooshed from Tony's lungs, and he couldn't hold back the muted grunt that escaped his lips as the finger pushed painfully into his body, just one more foreign intrusion in a day already filled with them.

"Take a deep breath" Ducky said gently, and Tony obeyed, trying to force his overly tense muscles to relax, knowing it would only hurt more if he didn't. Ducky's finger remained still inside him, perhaps giving him a moment to adjust.

"I'm good" Tony got out.

"Then you're going to feel me moving" Ducky warned, before his finger began circling slowly as it felt for any tears or other injuries.

Tony gritted his teeth, trying to control his breathing, knowing it was approaching hyperventilating as the exam continued, the pain building as Ducky carefully yet thoroughly checked him over. He jumped as the finger brushed over his sensitive prostate, another muted yelp escaping even as Ducky soothed him. "God" he got out, his hands now tightly fisted, needing it to end before he lost it.

Then, Ducky's finger slipped out of him. Though it had felt like ten years, in reality, the entire unpleasantness hadn't lasted more than thirty seconds. "All done, Anthony."

Tony straightened so fast his head spun, but he held out a hand to ward off Ducky's impending aid. "Please, don't" he warned firmly. He needed the space before he lost it, and he didn't want to accidentally hurt the physician.

Ducky saw that, and quickly backed off. "Why don't you take a shower, dear lad" he suggested kindly. "It'll do you a world of good to clean up. I'll put some clean clothes in for you when you're done."

"Thanks, Ducky." Tony quickly disappeared behind the shower curtain, thankful at last to be able to hide himself. "Am I okay?" he asked from behind the curtain, his voice not yet muffled by running water. His body was shaking too hard for him to be able to grasp the tap and turn on the water.

"Physically yes" Ducky affirmed. "You are mostly bruised. You have a few small tears to your rectum, but nothing that requires stitches. Twice daily application of an antibiotic salve and watching your diet will do. I would like to get an x-ray of your hand, however, because I suspect you may have cracked a bone, and if you would be so good as to fill this specimen cup so I could ensure your kidneys are okay."

A plastic, orange-topped bottle appeared on the corner of the bathtub. "Just leave it outside the shower curtain when you are done" Ducky directed.

"Thanks, Ducky" Tony said softly, and attempted to turn on the water. To his relief, his muscles were somewhat cooperating, and within seconds, he was letting the scalding spray cleanse him.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN1:** I'm absolutely blown away by the response to the last chapter. You guys really are amazing, I'm in awe. THANK YOU! And now, for your enjoyment, a much lighter chapter, almost fluffy. Happy reading :)

**Dislaimer:** It hurts every time, but they're not mine *sobs*

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

When Ducky closed the hotel room's door on them, Abby turned into her boss' chest. "How could they do that, Gibbs?" she asked plaintively, huddling closer as his arms encircled her back. "How could they do that to him?"

"World's a cruel place, Abs" Jethro said matter-of-factly. He understood far too well the urge to make someone hurt, make someone suffer for something they'd done, or even die for it, and he knew that put him much closer to that invisible line you weren't supposed to cross than the scientist in his arms. But jumping a cop just because you were busted, and doing _that_ just because he was smarter than you, that was beyond what he could comprehend. But then, unlike Ducky, he had long ago found that doing his job was much easier if he _didn't_ try to understand the motivation behind the crimes he faced on a daily basis. It also was what enabled him to keep coming back every day.

Abby suddenly bounced upright, nearly making him bite the tip of his tongue off. "C'mon!" she urged, dragging him towards the stairs.

"What?" he growled.

"Tony's gonna need some clean clothes. And you'd better not be letting him go back to his place alone after this" she warned, "because I'm not going to stand for it. He got hurt doing your bidding, and I know you care about him, so you'd best just forget that second 'b' for a while and help him out" she warned.

"Abs!" he tried to break through her tirade. "I wasn't going to leave him alone." His stomach had clenched at her words, and whilst he knew she didn't blame him, it only reinforced that which he was feeling. The Baltimore detective had gotten hurt on _his_ watch, playing for _his_ team, following the spirit, if not the exact lettering, of _his_ orders, and it had been _him_ leading the back-up that had arrived too late to be of any use.

"Good. Now come on!"

They made the drive to DiNozzo's small apartment in good time. Considering all that Jethro had seen and heard from and about the young detective, the place was nothing like that trash-littered, pizza-strewn, bachelor-pad he'd almost come to expect. But then, he'd realised early on just how much of Tony's façade was nothing more than an elaborate show, and he'd even begun to enjoy some of the crazy antics that entertained the squad-room.

As Abby bounced into the bedroom to find an overnight bag, Jethro took a minute to wander, taking in the small but comfy sofa, cleverly refurbished wooden shelving that held his large TV and joint DVD/VCR player, an extensive movie collection, a high-quality sound system, the entertainment system being the only object of any monetary value in the room, and an even larger CD collection which, to his surprise, held everything from pop to classic rock, from jazz to country to classical.

The place was neat and organised, tastefully decorated despite the shoestring budget, often redone by the young man himself, in a manner that reflected said young man's personality; a fondness for movies, a little kooky, a taste for the finer things, with a sophistication and intelligence his mild manner and sense of humour belied.

The bedroom held a large double bed, neatly made, with navy sheets, more than a few pillows, and a dark green coverlet. A beautiful painting of a Greek coastal scene adorned one wall, whilst another held some scenic beach photographs. No black and red silk hangings, no mirror on the ceiling. Jethro nodded to himself in satisfaction. The apartment was just further proof of what he'd already figured out; DiNozzo was all smoke and mirrors, playing up the rich, frat-boy jock in order to hide his true self.

"Abs?" Jethro asked, watching her pawing through the man's drawers with a little too much interest.

"What do you think he'd want as underwear?" she asked, a gleam in her eye as she went through that particular drawer.

"You want to let me do that?" Jethro asked, coming over. It seemed a little intimate, as he'd only known the man a week, but better than the damp articles of clothing with which he would be stuck if NCIS' forensic scientist didn't stop her drooling.

"Naw, thought you should grab him his shaving kit, toothbrush, that sort of stuff."

"We're not keeping him" Jethro warned, ducking into the bathroom, glad to be let off the hook on that one.

"Aww, why not Gibbs? I like him Ducky likes him, even you like him. And don't say you don't, because I saw how angry and all Papa-Bear you got whenever you thought someone had hurt him." Not to mention the argument of near-epic proportions that she'd witnessed not twenty minutes ago, to her delight. Normally, she only ever heard the stories of her silver-haired fox confronting the director or taking down dirtbags, so despite the seriousness of the situation, a little part of her had truly enjoyed seeing that famous temper unleashed firsthand.

There was no reply from the bathroom, although Abby thought maybe she heard a grunt. But then, she knew her current partner-in-crime, and she wasn't expecting one. Just that earlier argument with Tony had used his word quota for the month, so she figured the senior agent needed some time to recuperate. With a shrug, she turned back to her task at hand.

Tony, it seemed, favoured boxers, no surprise, but to her satisfaction, she found a bit of everything in there, and she scolded herself as her imagination wandered into x-rated territory. Abby let her hands sift through, feeling the material, choosing out the two softest flannel ones, as well as two older, well-worn pairs of boxer-briefs, thinking that if Ducky put some ointment or salve on the area, it would help keep it contained. She couldn't help but explore his varied taste though, eying a pair of emerald green silk very brief briefs with an appreciative gaze as she pictured his slim, muscular body, dark golden skin and matching emerald eyes.

Oh, yeah. She might not be interested in him in that way, but the man was wonderful eye candy. And he knew it too.

"We're bringing him back here tomorrow, he probably wants the comfort of his own place." As accustomed as Jethro had gotten to using words like 'raped' or 'murdered' in conjunction with an investigation or case, it felt foreign to say it about someone he'd come to see as for more than a temporary colleague; someone he'd come to _care_ about, even if he wasn't ready to admit it yet. Especially when admitting it was akin to admitting his own failure to protect the detective.

"Well then someone'd better stay with him, because otherwise he'll rabbit." Abby reluctantly closed the underwear drawer and opened the one beside it, rooting around for some thick, warm socks. She imagined that being hurt like that would make someone cold. She was cold just thinking about it.

"I know, Abs" Jethro said, coming back into the room. He hadn't packed too much, thinking that it would be more motivation for the young man to return here tomorrow. And that would be half the battle won, because with Abby and Ducky on his side, Jethro knew he could best Tony. Not to mention, the veritable drugstore of hair-care, skin-care, and God-knew-what-else products scared him. It appeared the part of Tony that enjoyed the finer things in life needed more products than some of his ex-wives.

But he also knew better than to assume anything with the young man. The Baltimore detective had proven to be a formidable opponent when he so chose, cleverer than anyone gave him credit for, and wilier beyond belief. He annoyed Jethro to no end, because the older man could never predict the sudden turns the younger man and his brain would take when faced with a situation.

"Having fun?" he asked sarcastically, seeing her head bent studiously over a drawer.

"Just trying to decide between socks" she answered, and her voice sobered suddenly. "I'm trying to find the things that look the most comfortable and worn-in" she explained. Minus her underwear foray, of course.

Jethro nearly smiled at her, and chucked her gently under the chin in lieu of words. Opening the closet, he was struck by the array of designer clothing, of shirts and ties and suits and jackets and pants and shoes . . . no one man had this many clothes! It was almost scarier than the bathroom.

"Boss, comfy stuff'll be in the dresser" Abby informed him. "Closet is for things that hang. Comfy things like sweatpants and sweatshirts don't hang." She was digging through the middle drawer, pulling out an Ohio State Varsity Basketball t-shirt, and an Alpha-Chi-Delta fraternity one.

"No guy has that many clothes." Jethro voiced his thoughts as he closed the closet door to crouch beside her.

"Tony's a guy. He's _all_ guy" Abby said with a smirk, and Jethro felt a sudden wave of fury that had nothing to do with reason and everything to do with keeping DiNozzo's wandering, experienced paws off his Abby. Who was likely just as experienced as Tony, Jethro reminded himself sternly, and probably played much more on the wilder side.

"Abs" he warned, tugging open the bottom drawer.

"What?" she asked innocently, then turned away as he fixed an icy glare on her. "Ah, now this is more like it. Look, he really was an athlete." Another Varsity logo, this time on a Buckeyes sweatshirt, followed by a pair of sweatpants with 'BASKETBALL' proclaimed across the butt.

"Doubting your sources?" Jethro asked rhetorically, knowing that wasn't the case. The young woman already knew everything there was to know about Tony, as did he. As soon as he'd been forced into a joint investigation, he'd had Abby do her hacking-computer thing, and he himself had done a background check worthy of the Secret Service. He told himself it had been solely based on a need to know with whom he was working, and had nothing at all to do with the enigma, the puzzle that was Anthony DiNozzo, and the more-than-merely-professional interest Jethro had in him.

"Not a chance, Bossman. I just usually don't get to see confirmation of my work beyond a ding from one of my babies" she explained, referring to the machines in her lab. "He played varsity basketball and football, a real talent on the court with chances of making it at least to the minor leagues, until he broke his leg senior year on the football field. Actually, I think it was broken for him. Some guy hit him wrong or something. Tony didn't break his own leg. That'd be really hard to do, I mean bone, because of the molecular components, the cellular structure and the crystalline-like lattice, is one of the strongest materials on the planet, as well as one of the lightest. The force required to break a leg bone is, like, _massive_. We've been trying to copy it for years, with no luck, which really isn't surprising when you think of it, because-"

"Abs" Jethro cut her off. He'd tried to listen, he really had. Every now and then he attempted to listen to Abby's ramblings or Ducky's tales, and it seemed the guilt he was feeling over DiNozzo had facilitated this particular attempt, but honest-to-God, there just came a point when he couldn't take anymore.

"Right." She quickly rewound through her head, until she found where she'd left off, before taking off on the subject of human bone. "He was team captain in basketball" she added.

Jethro tucked DiNozzo's etui in the side pocket of the black overnight bag. He was still in the denial stage, and wasn't planning on keeping the young man any longer, despite Abby's and Ducky's ardent protests and none-too-subtle hints that the Homicide detective would make a wonderful new team member.

Jethro already knew he would. Tony was smart, instinctive, street-wise, and had a unique way of looking at things from a completely different perspective that made connexions his own brain would never follow. His interrogation style, whilst unorthodox and sometimes painful to watch, was unerringly effective, and the detective's seeming lack of aptitude with technology just endeared him to Jethro even further. He wasn't sure if DiNozzo really was as incompetent as he appeared to be, as Jethro had quickly realised that, the more the young man pretended to be stupid, the better he understood. Most importantly though, Tony balanced him. With his lightness, humour, and easy way with people, he smoothed Jethro's abrupt, monosyballic intensity.

Didn't mean he wanted to hire the former basketball star, however. Tony had already gotten in too far, and whilst Jethro was determined to see this through to the end, his guilt at his own role in the situation demanding that, it didn't mean things had to go any further than that. At this moment, he was fulfilling rule forty-five, and then, rule eleven would then come into play. And it was as easy as that, he told himself firmly.

"Why two of everything?" he asked, having observed her packing for the last few minutes.

"In case it gets soiled. Or all sweaty or something" she said quietly, and Jethro was touched by her thoughtfulness. He kissed her tenderly on the cheek.

"We're done."

Abby slipped in a pair of well-worn black sports sandals to use as slippers, and zipped the bag shut. Jethro hoisted it over his shoulder, and they headed back for the hotel room.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** I can't thank all of you enough for the support and encouragement you've offered me throughout this story. It's blown me away. You guys rock! Enjoy this next chapter :)

**Disclaimer:** Maybe if I married into NCIS . . . nah, not mine, never will be.

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><p>Chapter 5<p>

When Ducky finally managed to convince Tony his skin couldn't stand any more scrubbing, the orange-topped bottle was gone, and the Detective was shocked and more than a little touched to find his overnight bag sitting on the toilet seat. He was a little curious as to who had selected and packed his clothes, but he decided not to dwell on it.

He gratefully pulled on the soft, worn flannel boxers and thick socks, before further layering himself with his favourite hoodie, his basketball name and number stitched across the back, and the sweats. He took a moment to wonder at the choices, awed that these were some of his favourite articles of clothing, soft, worn, and comfort-things, like comfort food, inordinately touched at the care either Gibbs or Abby had shown in their selection. Slipping his feet into the open-toed rubber sandals, Tony cracked open the door and peeked into the hotel room, suddenly terrified of facing these people again, now that they knew the truth about him.

"Ah, Anthony. Good." Ducky approached him, holding out a tube of ointment. First things first. I have here an antibiotic salve for your rectum. I believe I can leave you to it?"

Tony really didn't want anything else going near his ass. "Thanks, but it's really not necessary, Ducky" he tried to politely decline.

"Nonsense" Ducky scolded, almost paternally. "You have a few small lacerations that, quite luckily, do not require stitches, but the colon is a veritable cesspool of bacteria, and believe me when I say, the consequences of any infection will far outweigh the discomfort at this moment." He brandished the tube. "It also contains aloe vera, which promotes healing, and some lidocaine gel, which will help with the pain."

Tony stared at the unmoving tube for a long moment, before letting out a long-suffering sigh, and with a growl, he grabbed it and disappeared back into the bathroom, thankful that he was able to apply the ointment himself. It still hurt, but he suspected that if he didn't do it properly, things would get rather unpleasant. Squeezing a large dollop onto his finger, he lowered his sweatpants and boxers, and gritted his teeth before doing the deed.

Ducky was waiting when he re-exited the bathroom "All done?" At Tony's half-grimace of an affirmative, he nodded. "Over here then, if you please." The M.E. beckoned him to the yet-unused bed in the double room, its covers turned down, clearly awaiting its next occupant.

Tony padded over, warily eying the things Ducky had laid out.

"Are you feeling better, Anthony?" Ducky asked softly as he approached, fighting the urge to lay a comforting hand upon the young man.

"Yeah" Tony admitted gratefully beyond grateful at the kindness and care he'd been shown by near-strangers. "Look, Ducky, I'm fine, really. You've already gone to so much trouble. I'll just head home and-"

"Oh no you shall not, dear boy" Ducky chortled. Had there been enough agents around to start a pool, he would've cleaned up, he thought proudly. "If we let you go now, we shall never see you again." And he had absolutely no intention of letting that happen.

"Why do you care?" Tony asked. "I'm just yet another LEO you met on a case and were forced to work with. Not exactly a rarity, I'd imagine" he added wryly, thinking of the horror stories that had spread like wildfire through the precinct when they had realised NCIS was coming in. His own partner had called in sick, having worked with Gibbs the last time NCIS had been involved, and his Lieutenant had suddenly found an urgently pressing case, leaving everything to the captain, who hadn't had the privilege of throwing his immediate C.O. to the wolves.

There had been a particularly good story about Gibbs and another agent, something about a piece of used bubblegum, cherry flavour, a hooker, an evidence bag, and an epic takedown, and Tony was dying to ask if it was true.

"You, Anthony, are special" Ducky said simply. "Now, if you will be so good as to lie on the bed?"

Tony's mouth fell open, and he had to gape at the older man for a moment. Special? No one had ever used that term in reference to him, unless it was a one-night-stand after he'd finished demonstrating his oral prowess. Now _that_ was special. This, _he _was most definitely not. The Scotsman was off his rocker. But then, Tony had yet to meet an M.E. who was _not_ a little kooky. No normal person wanted to spend their lives taking apart the crimes inflicted on the human body. Or maybe no one who spent their lives poring over the dead remained normal.

But no one had ever told him he was special before either.

"Anthony?" Ducky prompted.

Tony closed his mouth and ordered his limbs into gear, wincing slightly as he sat down to ease off his sandals.

"Good, now turn onto your stomach, if you would" Ducky instructed.

Tony froze for a moment, blood pounding in his ears, before he forced it away. "Come on, Ducky" he complained, finally reaching the end of his rope. "I already let you check me out, and I used that damn salve stuff. What more do you want from me? I'm fine!" Somewhere in the back of his head, he realised that his reaction was a little over the top, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Are you always this un-co-operative?" Ducky queried lightly, ignoring the outburst. Adding fuel to this particular fire was just asking for disaster, and Tony had earned an outburst or two. But he was growing weary of hearing the word 'fine.' They clearly had some highly varying definitions of the state of 'fine.' He wondered who in the young man's life had taught him that his own well-being was of so little worth.

"No. I'm clearly not doing a good job. Usually I get out of it" Tony told him, responding to the lightened mood, and the doctor chuckled appreciatively. Not only were these NCIS employees a match for him, Tony thought, rarely swayed by his fast tongue and flirty smile, but they also seemed to have seen straight through his masks, and it scared him to no end.

On the other hand, perhaps it was that ability that encouraged Tony to trust them, insofar as he could trust anyone, and he allowed the physician's warm, gentle hand to push him down onto the admittedly comfortable bed. It seemed NCIS had a larger budget for its out-of-town trips than BPD.

"Well, it's good to know you've met your match" Ducky smiled. "Now, I would like to give you a shot of antibiotics, to help prevent any infection. It works best when injected into the gluteal muscles."

Tony turned his head back to the man, feeling the irrational panic welling up again. "That's really not necessary, Ducky," he tried, struggling to control his breathing as he rolled onto his back and tried to sit up.

"It really is" Ducky said, those suddenly deceptively strong hands pushing his shoulder back down. "Intramuscular is a much more efficient route of administration, I know you know that." He played to the detective's academic side, but still there was no give, as the younger man fervently shook his head.

"No" Tony insisted, tensing beneath the firm hand.

Ducky's eyes fixed on Tony's. "Five seconds. Just lower your boxers slightly, and it will be finished before you know it." He paused, realising he was going to have to play dirty this time around. "I can always ask Jethro to help me out."

Tony's heart leapt in panic. "You play cruel, Ducky" he muttered.

"I only wish for the best for you" Ducky said softly. "Please, Anthony."

It was the 'please' that did him in, again. He didn't know how to deal with kindness. He was used to shouting and threats and insults and even blows, but kindness had always been his undoing. Tony bit his lip and rolled back on his side. He wriggled his sweats and boxers down, exposing himself yet again, and clenched his hands into fists, wanting nothing more than to just escape and forget this had ever happened.

"Thank you" Ducky said softly, ripping open a packet. "Here goes" he added, warning Tony he was going to touch the younger man.

Tony couldn't help but flinch as he quickly disinfected a patch of skin that rippled nervously as the muscles beneath it tensed and quivered.

"Are you sure it's necessary?" Tony asked quietly, a last desperate attempt he knew was futile. He hated getting needles in his butt. Actually, he had a strong dislike of needles, period, yet another remnant of a less-than-stellar childhood. Doctors weren't always the good guys, although he intrinsically knew he could trust this one here. Trust. Such an easy word, and such an elusive concept in his world, an honour bestowed on a select few who often spent years earning it. And yet, he was already using the word in conjunction with these people from NCIS, somehow sensing that they were worthy. He didn't actually trust them yet, he'd been burnt far too many times for that, but he knew that it would be so easy to do so.

"It's best this way, my dear boy. Deep breath" Ducky coached.

Tony, knowing the drill, sucked the air in, and blew out hard as the stainless steel pierced his skin and muscle. He hissed at the burning as Ducky depressed the plunger, slowly emptying the contents into his muscle.

"I apologise, I know that wasn't pleasant" Ducky said ruefully. "Just one more" he said, and this one was done before Tony could even yelp. "All done" Ducky told him, this time making no move to halt Tony's bid to cover himself.

"That was two, Ducky" Tony complained, rubbing the site. The first one was still burning.

"I know. Both were necessary, and I determined it would be easier to get them both over with rather than to have two sore spots" Ducky said, tenderly patting Tony's hip. He gently pulled the duvet up covering the young man to his shoulders, hoping the muscle relaxant he'd just injected would have its intended affects and let the young man sleep. He and Jethro had both been going non-stop for days, and after the trauma of his attack, Ducky knew some dreamless sleep was just what the doctor ordered.

Tony bit his lip and averted his eyes at the tenderness. He had a feeling that someone had just tucked him in, for the first time in his life.

"That does feel better" he admitted, as he felt the lidocaine gel start working its magic inside him, and the aching eased.

"Yes, I thought it would help" Ducky replied, knowing to what his patient was referring. "Now, I need to stitch up that laceration on your scalp, so, if you could just lie like this, yes, perfect" Ducky said, positioning Tony's head, ensuring the Detective was comfortable. He gently parted the damp strands of hair, knowing the young man would be very upset if any needed to be shaved off. "This will burn a little" he warned before injecting some lidocaine to numb the skin.

Tony didn't make a sound, pressing his lips together.

"There. Just give that a few moments to work" Ducky instructed, as he laid out what he would need.

"Do you feel this?" he asked a few moments later, poking carefully at the gash on Tony's head.

"No" Tony replied. It was such a weird feeling, although he'd long ago grown used to it.

"All right, then. Just relax, dear boy." Ducky set to work, and it didn't take long before the second needle with which he'd jabbed Tony took effect, and the young man's body relaxed into a boneless, undisturbed sleep, soothed by the rhythmic tones of Ducky's Scottish dialect as he recounted a tale about the aloe vera plant.

* * *

><p>It was the change in breathing that alerted Jethro to the young Detective's predicament. Sending Abby and Ducky to bed, Jethro had promised he would watch over their charge. Tony had looked so young and vulnerable all of a sudden, sleep erasing his mask and years of worry and heavy burdens.<p>

Jethro hadn't been able to resist gently brushing the dark hair from closed eyes, or running a protective hand down the firm upper arm, all the while firmly denying the fatherly instincts that were suddenly roaring inside him. He told himself that he was just doing what any good C.O. did, making sure someone under his command was okay, especially if they'd been hurt following his orders. It was not about easing the guilt that burnt inside him, and it was _definitely_ not about those aroused paternal feelings. Not a chance.

Ducky had warned that the nightmares would likely come only as the mild sedative he'd administered wore off, and as usual, the knowledgeable physician had been right.

Jethro slid off the neighbouring bed as soft whimpers reached his ears, and his mouth tightened in anger. Wary of how to wake the other man without getting one or both of them hurt, Jethro tried to talk to him first.

"Easy, DiNozzo, you're safe here, easy" he soothed, crouching by the bed, wondering why he felt so much like a father watching over his grown son. He tried, rather unsuccessfully, to push away that paternal feeling, and focus instead on rousing the other man from his nightmares.

Tony continued to whimper, his brow furrowed, head thrashing back and forth on the pillow. He mumbled disjointedly in a language Jethro suspected might be Italian.

"Hey, it's okay." Jethro took a chance, and, giving in to the urge, laid a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder, tensed and ready to leap back if it looked like the young man was going to react violently.

Tony gasped and lurched upright, bedding tangled around his body, chest heaving as he pulled in air, eyes wild and searching.

"Easy, DiNozzo" Jethro told him softly, withdrawing his hand. "Easy, it's just me. You're safe here." He wanted to touch the young man somehow, soothe him, or help him untangle the sheets trapping his legs, but Jethro had enough experience with nightmares and bad experiences to know that Tony needed his distance right now.

Tony's breathing hitched and his eyes cleared. "Gibbs?"

He cast about the room, taking in the familiar surroundings of the room he'd been in earlier, using the moment to try and calm his breathing. "What time is it?" he asked, realising it was dark out. It had only been mid-afternoon when . . . damn, he was certain that crafty little doctor had slipped him something. He knew all too well that drugged feeling, and he rubbed at his eyes.

"O-three-thirty" Jethro answered, watching most of the wildness fade from the expressive emerald eyes.

Tony sighed and rubbed at his hair, so that it stood up all over his head in sweaty spikes. He winced as the movement pulled and put pressure on his sore butt, shifting sideways to ease the pain. "Don't need a babysitter" he muttered, hating how exposed he felt, his walls down for all to look in.

"Want to talk about it?" Jethro asked, surprising both of them, Tony not only with the question itself, but with the understanding in his voice, and himself with the fact that he'd asked the question in the first place.

"No" Tony replied firmly. The less he talked about it, the less he had to think about it, and he already knew that this incident would require quite some work to bury it in that vault with his other purposely forgotten memories.

His hand twinged as he repositioned himself on the bed, and he stared at the gauze peeking out from beneath the firm ace bandage.

"Ducky says you tried to take out the wall with only one fist" Jethro commented lightly, watching the young Italian discretely. "And that you're going for x-rays in the morning."

"You should see the wall" Tony deadpanned, trying to ignore the now-throbbing pain. "And I don't need x-rays."

"I'll keep that in mind, Dr. DiNozzo" Jethro returned sarcastically, realising even as the words left his mouth that this probably wasn't the right thing to say. The tough love he was so used to dishing out was too harsh and grating here. His current charge might not be able to take kindness, but he was equally unable to stand tall in the face of Jethro's normal attitude, too off-balance at the moment to take it for how it was actually meant.

"Screw you!" Tony hissed, feeling the shame and fury rising within him, wanting nothing more than to get out of there, get far, far away from this all.

Jethro's face remained calm, recognising the powder keg for what it was. "Abby packed you a couple extra sets of clothing" he said changing the subject, and nodded at the sweat-soaked sweatshirt. "Your bag's still in the bathroom. Ducky said if you shower, try not to get the stitches wet."

Tony's eyes widened. "Stitches?" he asked, fear spiking in his belly.

"In your head" Jethro said quickly, seeing the rising panic in the young man's eyes. "The cut on your head." He fought to batten down the guilt that rose in him again. Ducky had already had some firm words with him, expressing in no uncertain terms that, not only was he not to blame, but that DiNozzo would also sense the guilt, and take that upon himself as well. In the end, the guilt would help nobody, but that didn't mean it was so easy to just brush aside.

The panic faded. "Oh." He hated feeling so disconcerted. "Okay." There was another brief flash as he struggled to free his trapped legs from the tangle of bedding, grateful that the NCIS agent hadn't stayed or tried to help him, instead retreating to the other bed, where he'd obviously been going over the files Tony had abandoned. He felt bad about that.

Unable to help himself, Tony locked himself in the bathroom, turned the shower water on hot and hopped in again. So desperate was he to wash the feel of rough hands and hard cocks from his body that he completely forgot to heed Ducky's warning about the stitches, instead scrubbing hard at his body, not noticing the pain in his hand, annoyed that all washcloths and the like were gone. Ducky had obviously foreseen this.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, hand clumsily re-wrapped and dressed in a fresh set of clothes, silently thanking Abby for her astute choice of garments, Tony padded back into the hotel room, feeling every step in his backside. He had re-applied the ointment Ducky had left by his etui, the message fairly obvious, but it took several minutes for the analgesic to kick in.<p>

"Supposed to keep your head dry, DiNozzo" the gruff voice reached him.

Tony started, stopped in his tracks and, staring at the NCIS agent, suddenly reached a hand up to the now-exposed wound on his head, realisation dawning. The bandage had long since been scrubbed away. "Shit" he swore. He'd completely forgotten. "Ah, about that . . ." His voice trailed off and, embarrassed, he looked away. He'd just needed to scrub himself clean, get the feeling of those harsh hands off him.

"S'okay, Tony." Jethro rose from the bed and came over to him.

Tony looked up in surprise at the use of his first name, and the gentle empathy in the gruff man's voice. He couldn't remember anyone ever giving a damn like that whenever he'd been hurt. And now, these three near-strangers had shown him, in a few short hours, more care than he'd ever experienced in his life, and he had no idea what to do with it. He swallowed back hard on the tears that suddenly welled up within him, hating the weakness he was displaying. And then he had to batten down the rage as well, and he was getting so weary of stuffing down all these sudden, powerful emotions.

"Ducky wants to check on you."

Tony shook his head quickly. "No, that's not fair, it's four am. He needs his sleep. Don't you dare wake him up because I was an idiot" he growled angrily.

"Too late, my dear boy."

Tony jumped and whirled on the man, glaring hotly as his heart attempted to settle back in his chest. "Fuck!" he swore heartily, an utterance that rarely left his mouth. "Dammit. Sorry, Ducky" he apologised, face red and burning, heart pounding. He hated feeling like this, so unsettled, jumping at shadows, unable to calm his racing mind, on an emotional rollercoaster. If he could just be left alone to retreat into his corner and lick his wounds like a cat, he could emerge in a few days, good as new, this latest trauma safely and securely locked away where it no longer could affect him.

"No, it is I who must apologise, Anthony. You are understandably rattled due to recent events, and I should have taken that into account whilst approaching you. I do hope you'll forgive me?"

Tony stared at him in askance. He just didn't get these people. He didn't get how open and trusting (some of them) were, he didn't get how easily they accepted him, and most of all, he didn't get how they seemed to actually care about him. He didn't think anyone but Ducky could have delivered that line and not have an ounce of pity come through; just straightforward fact mixed with regret.

"Don't worry, Ducky" he said, pasting a grin on his face, being careful not to make it too bright as then it would be so obviously false. "It's just my super-duper extra-quick reaction time. Comes from being a top-rated college athlete, you know." He winked. "Amongst other things. I had this great girlfriend, she wanted to help me improve my reaction time. She used to strip and then-"

"Can it, DiNozzo!" Jethro snapped, impressed with the acting ability. Tony's Captain at the Baltimore PD had said he was the best undercover cop he'd ever seen, but then, Jethro suspected DiNozzo had spent most of his life undercover. It was impressive to watch, though. The young man turned from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other on a dime, like he was simply donning a different mask.

In a sense, he really was.

Tony snapped his mouth shut, regarding the older man for a moment. Then he let another smile out, a slight leer to it. "What? You don't want to hear about-"

"Nope. Now let Ducky do his thing."

That sobered Tony up. "Look, Ducky. Forget about this and just go back to bed. Agent Gibbs shouldn't have disturbed you, and for that I apologise." His stiff, high-class upbringing couldn't help but shine through in situations like this, when he automatically fell back on the lessons so painfully ingrained.

"Nonsense. Besides, I'm already here. Did you apply the ointment?" Ducky queried. He had purposely left a tube on the bathroom counter, next to the young man's etui, where it couldn't be missed.

Tony flushed and nodded, averting his eyes as he did so, hating that he'd needed it.

"Good" Ducky nodded, pleased with the progress. "Use it whenever you need it" he instructed, making sure he made contact with those embarrassed emerald eyes, ensuring he was properly understood.

Tony hesitated a long moment, holding the physician's gaze, then finally managed a terse nod. It really did help, and he was desperately keen for this whole ordeal to be over and done with.

"Now, why don't you lay down on the bed for me, and I'll check out your head" Ducky suggested

Tony really wanted to avoid any further physical contact. Not only was it nerve-wracking, but it penetrated his defences in a way that he couldn't understand, and made everything suddenly seem so much more intense. So much more _real_. "Ducky, it's fine" he said firmly.

"I am getting rather tired of hearing you utter that word" Ducky scolded, stepping closer. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with needing a little help, Anthony" he said, his blue eyes intense, using his physical presence to get the message across.

Tony shuddered, not understanding why the gentleness and kindness was suddenly getting to him.

"Lay down on you stomach again" Ducky instructed softly, and this time Tony let out a heavy sigh and obeyed.

He closed his eyes let out a long breath, positioning himself on his stomach whilst the older man worked on the bandage on his head.

"There" Ducky said when he finished. "All done. Why don't you go to sleep now, Anthony."

"Not tired" Tony lied. "Look, you guys have been really good to me, but I have a lot of work to get done, so I'm just gonna get out of your hair."

"Dear me, you are persistent" Ducky chuckled. He sensed that words would not sway the stubborn young man; actions, on the other hand . . . he'd quickly noticed that whilst the detective shied away from another's touch, he craved the human contact he so actively avoided. Ducky let his hand trail down from the bandage, through Tony's soft, wet hair, and on down along the muscled back.

He felt the young man twitch under his ministrations, and his heart ached as he suspected this selfless kindness was harder from Tony to take than fists or a belt. Ducky lifted his hand and repeated the movement, long, slow strokes, much like with a skittish horse. Or perhaps a sleeping cat, he realised, as the young man couldn't help but arch under his skilful hands.

Ducky had been right. Within moments, Tony was fast asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN1:** I know I'm repeating myself, but a huge shout-out to all those who have reviewed this story, and offered such kind words and encouragement, and a special thank you to those who reviewed every chapter. I'm really in awe of the response, and ever so grateful to all of you. You guys rock!

**Dislaimer:** Only in my dreams.

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

"What's the verdict?" Jethro questioned Ducky as the M.E. exited the exam room, Tony in tow.

"I'm right here" Tony snapped. Already in a bad mood from his sleepless, nightmare-plagued night and feeling like he was spinning out of control from the yesterday's . . . _incident_, being blackmailed into going to the hospital for x-rays, bloodwork, and anti-HIV medications had _not_ been anywhere near his list of to-do things, the first of which had consisted of getting the Hell out of Dodge.

"Because you're so honest when it comes to your health" Jethro retorted sarcastically, once again realising too late that falling back on his normal ways was, for the moment, too much for the Baltimore detective to handle.

"You don't trust me?" Tony asked, his heart sinking, wide emerald eyes suddenly filled with hurt, and Jethro cursed his second b. He had gotten, earlier, a stern talking-to from Ducky that had included, amongst other things, some rather strong suggestions about reigning in his natural tendencies a little, at least until their young charge was on a more even keel, emotionally. It had been a lecture he hadn't needed or appreciated, but it was so much easier to promise yourself you were going to do better than to actually _do_ better, and he knew the physician was giving him a dark look, he could almost feel it.

Jethro stepped closer, getting into the younger man's personal space. "There's no one I trust more in the field" he said truthfully, for though they had only been working together one week, he'd quickly seen through the masks and charades, to the fiercely loyal and honourable man beneath. It also hadn't taken him long to realise that Tony had a reckless streak a mile wide, and was careless when it came to his own well-being, and it had scared the Hell out of him, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it at the time. "But I don't trust you yet to tell me if you're hurt. That has to be earned."

What he _wasn't_ saying was just as important as what he was, and he saw Tony's eyes widen briefly as the young man took in the implications of that, and his back straightened minutely.

"Duck?" Jethro waited for the report.

The M.E. nodded. "Young Anthony here will be fine" he assured them both, patting said man gently on the shoulder. "There is, most fortunately, minimal trauma from the rape. His facial x-rays turned up negative, which is good, but he did manage to crack a bone in his wrist. He will require a wrist splint for four weeks, and triple cocktail therapy for three months, upon which time we shall re-evaluate." And a whole lot of subterfuge TLC for the almost irrepressible man's damaged psyche, but Ducky knew that between the three of them, they had that well in hand, if only Jethro would open his mouth and let something more than a few barks escape every now and again.

Tony scowled heartily at the thought of having to take the numerous medications for such a long time period. The doctor had carefully explained what each drug did, and the possible side-effects and restrictions upon his lifestyle and diet brought upon by the ten-minute delay yesterday. He felt the familiar rage rising up in him, and swallowed it down hard, his throat burning.

Jethro gave a terse nod. Not the best news, but from listening to Ducky last night, about what he'd expected.

"And they're also insisting the young lad speak to a counsellor" Ducky added, and had the situation not been so FUBAR, Jethro would have cracked a smile at the murderous expression that came over the Baltimore detective's face.

"No arguments, DiNozzo" Jethro warned. He needed the Italian to be at the top of his game, and much as he hated shrinks with a passion, he was no fool. He knew people didn't just suddenly get over such an incident, and he would find a way to ensure that DiNozzo not only went, but actually _talked_ to the therapist.

"You're not my boss. What the Hell gives you the right to order me around like this?" Tony snarled, quickly reaching the end of his admittedly short rope.

The words hurt, not because of their intended cruelty, but because of their veracity. For all that Jethro had fought against it, he had still come to think of the younger man as his, but the simple fact remained that he wasn't. Not that Jethro was about to let that stop him, because he was in desperate need of a new team member, and he hadn't needed Ducky's psychoanalysis or Abby's begging to know that this man was _it_. And even had he not been in need of a team, he would eventually have snatched this one up, because Tony was far too good to waste.

The young man's days in Baltimore were over, that had been clear from the very start of the case, when his captain had all but thrown him to the wolves. He needed someone strong and steady, there to ground him and to believe in him, to head-slap him back into place and channel his energy and enthusiasm, and mostly, the young Baltimore detective needed somebody to _care_ about him. Jethro unhesitatingly stepped right back into Tony's personal space. "Because unlike your _boss_" he sneered the word, "I _do_ give a damn about you."

Tony stilled, taken aback by the growling, nearly-mute man's sudden admission of . . . had the man just admitted to a feeling? About him? The anger drained from his body as suddenly as it had come, and he was already tiring of this emotional roller coaster. "Have you been taken over by aliens?" he demanded, squinting as he ran his eyes over the former Marine.

Jethro lightly slapped the back of Tony's head, wary of both the concussion, and the newly-developed aversion to touch. He would never admit it, but he had laughed and smiled more in the one week since he'd met Tony, than in the preceding decade since losing his wife and daughter.

"And I need my team-members in top form" he added.

Tony froze, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Is that a job offer?" he wanted to know, his voice much smaller than he would have liked. Even after this entire fiasco, even after knowing he was . . . damaged goods . . . this man, whom he already respected more than he'd ever respected any real person, wanted to hire him?

Jethro could read the doubt in Tony's eyes, could see the fear and shame, and he knew they would have a long road ahead of them before he could put his new partner back together. He reached up again, slowly this time, and gently cupped the back of Tony's neck, squeezing briefly before dropping his hand. "I don't repeat myself" he answered, and strode off.

Tony shook his head, his hand rising unconsciously to ghost over the warm spot that had been left on his neck. He looked over at Ducky, finding an amused glint in the Scotsman's eyes. Somehow though, the older man didn't look the least bit surprised. "You've known Gibbs a long time." It wasn't a question, but he was still looking for confirmation.

"Nearly a decade" Ducky answered.

"So . . . am I supposed to follow him?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN2:<strong> I know, I know, such a sudden, abrupt ending! It came as quite a surprise to me too, when I wrote myself to this point, and it was suddenly finished. I'm already working on the sequel, titled 'Somewhere He Opens a Door,' which deals with the emotional fall-out and some possible ramifications. Any suggestions or ideas or wishes would be most welcome, as I'm sort of stalled at the moment :S


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